#OnRepeat: On Avoiding children

Just a few hours, half day from work. But it was so much better than last year.

Last year I went on a Saturday. I queued for two hours to get into the Excel centre stuck behind a home counties Harley Quinn, a male Black widow, a teenage Gandalf and an impossibly sexy cat suited anime character who’s pants were so tight you could count the change in her back pocket.
£2.47. Sorry (Not Sorry)

This year I arrived at 2.30 on a Friday and walked in without waiting. Whats the point of going on a weekend when the queues for every coffee, sandwich, autograph and game demo are so long you need a weekend pass and come twice to see everything?

And the stalls have always run out of anything worth buying by Saturday lunchtime. Which should be noon-ish but ends being 3 after you’ve queued to eat your double priced authentic sushi which will send you running to join another hour long queue for a toilet cubicle.

But above and beyond my dislike for the great English pastime of huffy, bored annoyed queuing is the same reason why I like going to 18 movies over 15 movies. My desire to avoid children.

Now allow me to explain before you all clutch your pearls to your buxoms and gasp. I have nothing against children. (There’s a joke in there but I’m above that)

I dislike the effect that the children of today have on the parents of today.

Watching children torture their parents is like watching Katie Hopkins clubbing baby seals. It feels wrong to watch but you can’t help yourself and it makes you feel sad.

I’m single, spawnless, sexy and starved of sex! o sole mio.

I get it that the fruit of your loins has a barb in you like a deep sea creature and I won’t deny that you appear to be in some beautiful symbiotic relationship but as practiced observer of humanity I don’t see love in your eyes so it must be locked in your heart. All I see in your eyes is the empty horror of the thousand sleepover stare.

Watching children drag their parents around is like watching a cartoon where road runner gets lasoo-ed and then drags the poor coyote around.

I hate to show my age but I’m old enough to have grown up in the age when children were seen and not heard and when they were seen they were seen to be slapped on the arse by a frustrated mum.

The first generation without discipline had grown up, popped sprogs and after starting to bring up their children the way they wanted to be brought up are now rethinking their options and wishing it was still OK to slap the snot out of their seed.

Your child can walk. Why are you pushing a seven year old around in a stroller or towing a nine year old around on their scooter as if you were some sort of pack animal. Your child literally can’t stand on their own two feet. Literally.

I learnt patience and perseverance from walking till my feet hurt and then being glared into silence when I whined.

I feel a mix of schadenfreude and pity watching children suck the air out of their parents lungs one privileged, selfish demand at a time.

Oh yeah while I’m ranting off my rag how about children in movies. What adult thinks its Ok to bring a 10 year old to a movie that only made a 15 certificate after they reduced the number of expletives. What’s up with that?

Every Saturday multi-coloured, plastic dante-esque hellholes called playgroups and funhouses open up and swallow the hopes and dreams of once free spirits.

There. My two cents worth. Which you probably need after your progeny have rifled through your pockets to get their video game monkey off their back.

Hey I enjoy your writing and I know you have a bit of a light hearted tone in this post but woah, so many sweeping generalisations! While I clutch my pearls to my buxoms, allow me to explain…I’ve found the experience of parenting to be enriching. It has inspired me and changed me for the better in many ways. While my child isn’t at the age of being demanding beyond the basic needs of eating, sleeping and needing a cuddle or someone to play with him and give him attention, do those needs ever change? Not defending parenthood in general, just speaking from my experience which is far removed from the frustrated, sad, tortured souls you are reading when see a parent. The choice of parenting or being childless (when there is a choice) are both valid – no need to disparage the choices of either camp.

Loved this post! I have so much to say that I don’t even know where to begin. ☺I think that I will have to bookmark to reblog your piece. I know where you are coming from, especially from a Caribbean/West Indian background.

Oh man, I SO relate to this! Including my Caribbean/Welsh background. This is exactly how I grew up – “… in the age when children were seen and not heard and when they were seen they were seen to be slapped on the arse by a frustrated mum” and “… being glared into silence when I whined.” Trust me, at a very early age I learned not to whine, tut, sigh, make eye contact or even breathe too loudly but that’s a story all it’s own. Your providing ‘photographic evidence’ of once being a child really made me smile, and not just because you were a little cutie 🙂

As a child of six and a mum of five with two grandchildren I get a lot of what you’re saying though don’t necessarily agree with it all – but then this is your space for your opinions and I accept you aren’t asking for anyone’s agreement or otherwise. I do however feel inspired by this (and Marquessa’s recent posts along the same lines as well as 10000hoursleft’s comment) to add to the topic of parenting from a parent’s perspective.

Thank you for sharing your experiences which are communicated so well, inspiring and kick-starting conversation. Wonderful! 🙂